


Summer

by CedarTheBarefoot



Series: Up On the Homestead [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthur “Big Dick” Morgan, Banter, Bottom John Marston, Domestic Fluff, Floor Sex, Gardens & Gardening, Homestead AU, Horses, Kissing, M/M, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Arthur Morgan, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: John found himself on his back, his wrists pinned down on either side of his head. His red shirt was untucked from his jeans, and the top three buttons were undone. Sweat shined on his exposed, and heaving chest. His hair had loosed itself from its tie, wild from the wrestling, a bit of hay stuck in it. Arthur was above him, savoring the sight. He adjusted his knees on the barn floor, straddling John’s hips, and holding his wrists tightly in his hands.“What exactly were you trying to accomplish here, Marston?”





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said that this series is self-indulgent. as. HELL? Well, I said it again. 
> 
> I’m still loitering in Chapter 3, and I’m getting a sinking feeling. So, of course I had to write something where things are pretty much okay. Please enjoy.

Arthur woke up to an empty bed. 

To be honest, he usually did. 

For the majority of his life, he had risen before dawn, ready to run at a moment’s notice. He had been accustomed to a life sleeping in shifts, sleeping on the ground, sleeping in the saddle, sleeping exposed in the wilderness and barely sleeping at all. 

But no longer. 

Now, he had a roof over his head. He had a bed. It was a simple but sturdy bed frame that held the mattress aloft with ropes. The ropes would occasionally need tightening, but that was no matter. It was the best bed that Arthur had ever slept in. And he was content to let the dawn pass in it.

The one who warmed his bed, on the other hand, rose at first light practically every day. 

Arthur rolled over to feel the sheets where his lover usually laid. Warmed by the sunlight pouring in through the Eastward window, but definitely not by John Marston. He was probably outside, digging and cussing out in his garden. 

Raising his arms over his head, Arthur stretched the sleep from his limbs. A joint or two popped and he sighed in satisfaction. Then he leaned over to the bedside table to check the time on his pocket watch. It was a bit after 8 o’clock. The summer sun had probably risen a little more than two hours earlier. He forgave himself the sleepy start to the day considering how athletic they’d been the night before. 

After dragging himself up on the bed, he looked out the window. The sky was bright and blue, only just dusted with beautiful clouds that floated along on their merry business. A soft breeze moved through the trees, no doubt easing the heat. This summer so far was a pretty hot one. John and Arthur hadn’t slept with the blanket over them in for some time now. Instead they made do with the heavy linen sheet that John had stolen when he was about nineteen. 

Arthur chuckled, thinking about a job that involved stripping a fancy Mayor’s house of all goods and possessions. That town’s Mayor, like many in Arthur’s opinion, had been crooked with a nasty look to his eye. He’d deserved to get robbed. But when John had come down from the bedroom with the man’s linen sheets all neatly folded in the crook of his arm, Arthur had cuffed him good on the side of the head.

_“Ow! C’mon, Arthur. This here is proper linen!”_

_”And just how the hell would you know that?”_

_“Because I’ve never touched it before. One day, when I’ve got myself a real bed, I’ll have me some proper linen sheets for it.”_

Goddamnit, John had looked so earnest right then that Arthur could berate him no more over it. He’d watched John carry the linen from place to place for years. He kept it folded neatly and wrapped up all safe and tight in some waxed canvas. The others teased him about it once in a while, prodded the idiot over his pretty sheets. 

Arthur had teased John about a lot of things, but never about the linen. Having a bed meant something permanent. It meant safety. It meant peace of mind. 

It was just that Arthur had never thought that the linen sheets would go on the bed that they had built and shared together. 

The day that they had finally finished constructing the frame was the day John finally got to use his proper linens on his real bed. 

Arthur had been tightening the ropes, and readjusting the mattress. Fiddling. Overdoing it. He had just been excited to sleep on a proper bed and not a nest of bedrolls and blankets on the hard floor.

John had come upstairs, carrying a beaten up bundle of waxed canvas. Arthur had paused in his meticulous fiddling and smiled at his lover. In silence they had unfolded the heavy linen sheets together. They were deeply wrinkled and creased from years of being folded and stuffed in and out of bags. 

Together, with the linen sheets that John had stolen off some dandy Mayor, they had made up the bed. Their bed. And then they’d made love on it. Soft and tender-like.

Arthur smiled, briefly spotting John in the garden before he ducked back amongst the leaves. Once spring had come, they’d spent hours going over what they were planting and where. John had a little book, where he meticulously kept track of the garden. Where what had been planted one season, how well it had done and so on. After settling on a plan, they’d spent an entire day turning soil. 

John was usually a shoot first and ask questions later kind of man, but when it came to his garden, he had learned to give it some thought. Their first year planting on the homestead hadn’t gone so well. They’d come away with too much all at once, and food went to waste. The second year, they had come up with too little. After that he’d learned about how the land worked. Hell, he’d done more reading than Arthur had seen him do in quite some time. 

The reading had come from socializing with the nearest farmer, about ten miles out. Graham Collings was a nice old man from someplace in England. Talked funny, but was infinite in his wisdom and kindness. Also, Arthur could tell he would be a complete mountain cat in a fight. 

He’d come to America sometime back in the early ‘60s when he was only about fifteen, went West and built himself a homestead. He later found himself an Irish wife named Lenora and they’d built the homestead into a large farm. They had seven children together, most of them grown and helping run the place. They did more than alright for themselves, and kept the closest town, Whisper Ridge, stocked with good produce, and wool from their sheep. Graham always gave good advice when it came to maintaining one’s crops. 

More than that, he seemed fine with a couple of queers running a little homestead up in the mountains. His wife too. Not that they exactly talked in depth about it.

John frequently tried to bet money that Graham and Lenora were sharing their bed with their longtime foreman, Old Joe Richards. Arthur made a show that he didn’t buy it. But whenever they were invited to dinner at Collings Farm, Arthur couldn’t deny the quiet, loving looks between Old Joe and the two of them.

Who was he to judge? He was an aging fool with his lover’s spend from the previous night seeping from his arse. 

John came around the small line of posts they’d built for the runner beans to grow up. He was carrying a basket, full of the long, vibrant green beans. His long, black hair was tied back out of his face in a messy tail. He was in jeans, already dirty around the knees, boots and a red shirt. The first three buttons were undone, showing off a bit of his chest. He looked fit to eat, even when he started cursing up a storm, and stomping over to the squash. 

Beau, their bluetick hound, picked his head up from the broad leaves. His nose was covered in dirt. Arthur laughed, watching the dog bolt as John approached, tongue hanging joyfully from his mouth. 

_Could draw that,_ Arthur chuckled to himself.

Shaking his head, he stepped away from the window and went down the narrow stairs completely naked. He could do things like that now. He’d lost his modesty around John quite some time ago. 

A plate with a cloth over it was on the table. With a smile he pulled it off and sat down. John had left him some tenderloin, and eggs from his own breakfast. Some of the wild blueberries he had picked yesterday still sat in the bowl nearby. God, he loved him. 

After eating, Arthur heated up some water on the stove and found some soap. He went about cleaning himself, washing away the previous night. He made sure to wipe down the chair too. 

He had a horse to continue breaking in today. Artemis, a grey shire he kept for breeding and plowing had gotten familiar with one of his thoroughbreds a couple of years ago. They’d created one of the most mean-spirited colts Arthur had ever seen. 

Benandonner was a large, ornery beast of a horse, but he was beautiful. Most of his coat was a dark grey, with black socks and black spots along his hindquarters. A long black blaze covered his long face. His mane was so silken and inky that anyone who saw him would love him. 

Graham Collings had his eye on him as a foal and was willing to pay Arthur handsomely for him once he was ready. They were getting around to needing another good horse at their farm soon. Benandonner was a regret and a blessing, named after some mean giant from one of Lenora’s stories. And well for it.

Arthur pulled on some clean clothes and went outside. He was greeted by a pair of sharp, green eyes from one of the rocking chairs on the porch. “Hey kitty kitty,” Arthur rumbled, reaching out his fingers for the regal, brown cat to sniff. She blinked slowly at him, poked her nose at his fingers as if to satisfy him before settling back down for her morning layabout. Arthur shrugged. She hunted mice, and rubbed against his legs once in a while. He didn’t mind her quiet observation over the homestead. 

Arthur tipped his hat to her politely, “Miss Grimshaw.”

He went down the steps and went around to the garden. An excited bark sounded and Beau raced over to Arthur, dancing around his feet. “Hey boy!” He knelt down as John looked up from tending the squash. He shook his head as Arthur pet the mongrel, calling him a good boy and such.

“He’s a menace is what he is!” He called, fingering the tender roots of the squash plant that Beau had dug up. 

“Aw, he’s just doin’ what feels natural.” Arthur chuckled, flapping Beau’s ears. 

John shook his head and grumbled something under his breath. 

Smiling, Arthur stood up and made his way over to the brunet. Right before he reached him, John groaned, “Oh for the love of — more of this stuff? Really?”

“What?”

From between the large leaves John lifted a few long sprigs of mint that he’d ripped out by the roots. “More of your goddamned mint!” 

Arthur tucked a thumb into his belt, and reached to pluck off a leaf, “What’s the matter with mint?” He asked, slipping it into his mouth to chew.

“If it would keep to it’s damn self, it’d be fine. I swear, you brought one sprig of this stuff when we first started planting.” To assist his point, he gestured over to the side of the house where he’d let Arthur plant the offending herb. The cluster had grown decently in size. “And every year after that, it spreads. I find it everywhere, choking up the vegetables.”

Arthur shrugged, “I like it.”

John scoffed and pushed himself up to stand, “Yeah, well you and your minty beef can go and kiss the darkest part of my,” He was cut off with a kiss when Arthur wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and drew him in.

A real thorough, minty kiss. 

With tongue and teeth. 

It calmed the argument before it could start, and drew a throaty moan from the brunet. Hands came up to fist themselves in the blond’s blue shirt.

Eventually, Arthur pulled away a little, still chewing the mint and smiling. John blinked open his eyes, looking debauched and somewhat disappointed that the kiss had ended. Redness dusted over his cheeks and his ears. He took a step back, clearing his throat, his gaze growing stern before he shook his head, “Yer a piece of work, Arthur Morgan.”

The man in question shrugged, and broke off another leaf of mint to chew, “I’m sure you mind.” He gave John another kiss before turning to make his way over to the barn with Beau at his heels. John stared at Arthur’s departing ass for a good solid minute. It had no business looking so salacious in old, worn jeans. 

Grunting in annoyance, he went back to caring for the squash vine that the damn dog had nearly torn up. Luckily he had only gotten as far as exposing the roots. The plant was okay, if a little tender. The courgettes were nearly ready to be harvested, perhaps early next week. If he let them get any bigger, they’d start getting tough and woody. He learned that one the hard way. Once they were picked, he could go about cooking some and drying the rest for the pantry. 

John was already going to be up to his elbows in runner beans. Preparing them for the cellar just involved a lot of boiling water and meticulous timing. He still had a burn scar on his forearm from his first afternoon of canning years ago. Nevertheless, he was glad for the notes Lenora had copied for him on canning food. 

The weeding went much easier without having to nudge Beau out of the way every other moment. Planting the next round of carrots also went fairly well. He occasionally looked out at the horses grazing in the field. He also allowed himself to sneak glances over to the paddock where Arthur eventually began working with Benandonner. Beau was sitting obediently just outside the fence, his tail wagging. 

“Sure, the mutt will listen to _you_ , ya big soft bastard.” He grumbled, pouring water over some seeds he’d planted.

Once he was finished planting, John took his basket and climbed the hill. The wild blueberry bushes were fruiting very well this year and he was determined to make the most of it. 

Once up the hill, he really started to feel the summer heat. Sweat rolled between his shoulder blades and settled at the small of his back. He set about combing through the bushes, and eventually gathered a couple of fistfuls. There were still plenty of berries that weren’t ready to be picked. John figured he could come back in a few days for them. After checking all angles of the bushes, he ventured back down the hill. 

He stopped by the raspberry bushes around the North edge of the house to see if any more were flowering. He tsked when he found nothing. Typically the bushes would bear fruit earlier in the summer. Rarely some late flowering would take place around midsummer and they’d get another small round of the sweet, red berries. 

_Probably not this year,_ John heaved a sigh, and went back around the edge of the house with his full basket. He paused and shaded his eyes from the sun to look out at the training paddock.

Benandonner had a heavy saddle on and was dutifully carrying Arthur around in an easy circle along the fenceline. The big colt’s progress was impressive. For some reason he’d taken a harness and plow just fine in the spring once they’d started planting. He learned the directions and had had enough stamina to plow for hours. 

Riding on the other hand? That was something else. The brute hadn’t taken a saddle well in the beginning and had thrown Arthur more times than John could count. It wouldn’t do to sell the Collings a horse that would throw them at a moment’s notice. 

Luckily, he’d been doing better in the last month or so. Only occasionally would he take the bit between his teeth and fight Arthur. But things seemed okay just then. Benandonner was speeding up and slowing down as Arthur directed. 

The blond was riding well, exposed muscles flexing all around his torso to keep himself upright and balanced in the saddle. As expected, Arthur had at some point taken off his shirt in and hung it on a fence post. John admired the tanned, naked skin shining with sweat in the sun. It was one of his favorite things about summer. 

Benandonner hopped to one side a bit suddenly, turning his head with a jerk. The blond held fast to the reins and tugged them the other way to quell the incoming misbehavior. “Ah, ah, come on now! Don’t fight me, boy.” Benandonner nickered and adjusted his gait. “There we go, there’s a good boy.” 

John licked his lips, thoughts wandering as he headed inside the house with his basket of runner beans, carrots and blueberries. 

He had plans.

Some time later, Arthur brought Benandonner out of the paddock and decided to see how he’d do on a ride down to the river. It wasn’t too far. The beast had to start getting used to taking on a rider. Before mounting back up, he pulled his shirt back on, but left it unbuttoned in the heat. Taking some water from his waterskin, he glanced towards the garden. No sign of John.

“John!” Arthur called, looking around. 

“What is it?” Came the answer. John looked out of an open window, drying his hands on a cloth, probably having just washed up. 

“M’gonna try and take him down to the river. See how he does,” Arthur replied, climbing up into the saddle. 

John glanced dubiously at Benandonner who gave a snort as Arthur settled. ”You want some company? What if he throws you again and you break something?” 

Arthur shook his head, “Hasn’t thrown me in some time.” John cocked his eyebrow. The blond smiled reassuringly, “Honest! He’ll be fine. River’s not a five minute ride. We’ll be back in ten, fifteen minutes. I promise.” 

John nodded after a short moment of contemplation, “Alright. I’ll be here.” 

“See you,” Arthur grunted, nudging Benandonner with his heels up to a quick trot down the trail leading away from the homestead. When Beau tried to follow after with an excited bark, Arthur shook his head firmly, “No. You stay, Beau. Keep an eye on things.” The dog whined but obeyed, turning back up towards the house. He seemed to change his mind and veered towards the chicken coop.

Arthur called out, “And you stay out of that coop! He’ll wring your neck!”

“Yer damn right I will! Get out of there, ya pissant!” John’s bellowed from the window.

Arthur chuckled to himself, and encouraged Benandonner away.

The trees got thicker as they went, the trail a little steep in places. Occasionally, a squirrel or a rabbit would stir in the under rush. Benandonner regarded the noises with a few agitated snorts but nothing more. He didn’t pause or step off the path as he trotted. “That’s a good boy,” Arthur rumbled, patting the beast’s neck. 

Of course the ride couldn’t go as smoothly as Arthur had promised John. As they turned off the main path, nearing the sounds of the river, a small snake skittered across the path. Not poisonous from the brief flash Arthur had seen, probably a grass snake. But he knew horses and snakes did not always mix well. 

He gripped the reins in dismay, pulling back in anticipation of Benandonner bolting or rearing. But the brute let out an angry bray and stomped the damn thing to death. 

And then things were quiet, aside from Benandonner’s quiet snorts.

Arthur was left in a state of awe and shock for a long moment after that as the horse stood, pawing agitatedly at the ground. He leaned over in the saddle to look at the sad remains of the grass snake. It no longer had a head, and there were distinct impressions of hooves along the rest of its flattened body. Arthur patted Benandonner’s neck again, “Good boy.” 

He’d make a fine work horse, and he would protect his rider...at least when he wasn’t trying to throw them. Arthur let Benandonner take a moment to drink from the river when they arrived. It was only a couple of feet deep, and it moved at a steady pace down from the hills and mountains. The main path was nearby. It followed alongside the river for half a mile if you were heading towards Whisper Ridge, which was another six miles or so. 

After listening to the birds in the trees for a few minutes, Arthur gave the reins a gentle tug, “C’mon, boy. I think that’s good for today.” Benandonner obediently turned, stepped out of the river and started back up the trail. Arthur checked his pocket watch. It was a little past 2 o’clock.

He’d been working with the horses for most of the morning. Putting them to the field to graze. Watering the troughs. Got a saddle on Freckles for the first time. Salamander had to have a good wash and brush down after rolling in whatever he’d rolled in. Charisma was agitated on account that she was heavy with foal. 

Arthur reached upwards and stretched. The tightness in his muscles eased and a few of his joints popped. With a satisfied sigh, he took up the reins again, “That’s a good boy.” 

Before long, the trees parted and the homestead came into view. Arthur climbed down from the saddle and led Benandonner towards the barn. He glanced around as they walked, looking around for Beau or John. 

Neither were anywhere in sight. He figured Beau was off sniffing about someplace. If the smoke trailing from the stove chimney was any indication, John was probably working on canning for the pantry. When a process like that was taking place, it was best to stay out from underfoot. 

“C’mon boy, let’s get you cleaned up.” Arthur rumbled, patting Benandonner’s neck as they stepped into the barn. The brute heaved a sigh, watching as Arthur undid the straps and pulled the saddle off. 

“Hey, come on, boy. Relax.” Arthur rumbled as the horse nickered and pawed at the ground. He picked up the brush and proceeded to run it through Benandonner’s coat. This knocked loose drying sweat and dirt. 

Arthur’s hands, already dirty, grew more so. He glanced down at himself and saw what a mess he was. The chores weren’t over either. He had noticed that the Northmost side of the fencing in the field needed some repairs. The stalls needed mucking out. After that, he could probably stand to split some firewood. He knew he’d smell something fierce by the end of the day. More so than he already did.

He was feeling kind of hungry. He figured that it would be pertinent to go in the house for some lunch once he was done with Benandonner. Even if it meant braving John who was probably up to his elbows in preparing runner beans for the cellar and cranky for it. The brunet would probably have a few things to say about Arthur smelling like horse. 

Arthur rubbed down the clean grey coat, and led the horse to the other side of the barn that opened to the field. He undid the bridle and slipped it from Benandonner’s head. The brute trotted out to the hay pile where the other horses were grazing, with little regard for Arthur. 

He couldn’t help a shake of his head as he moved back into the barn to put things back in proper order. “Vain bastard,” he grumbled, hanging up the bridle and reins. 

Suddenly, he was pressed hard up against the wall, strong hands taking firm hold of his wrists. Arthur shouted out in surprise, and wrenched his hands loose. Turning around, he gave a hard shove, raising his fists to fight. He paused when he realized who was attacking him. A devilish smirk greeted him.

It was John.

The brunet threw his arms around Arthur and wrestled him to the ground. His hat was knocked from his head in the process.

“John, what’re you—” Arthur grunted, bucking to dislodge his lover. John didn’t go easy, pulling the blond with him. He rolled them so that he was on top again, trying to pin down Arthur’s dirty hands. The two men were fairly comparable in height. But Arthur was bigger and stronger. John at least had enough stamina to hold his own against him for drawn out tumbles. 

And they romped about for a long while. 

The otherwise empty barn filled with grunts of exertion and laughter. The struggle for dominance continued, but eventually the two men were winded and came to a trembling halt. 

John found himself on his back, his wrists pinned down on either side of his head. His red shirt was untucked from his jeans, and the top three buttons were undone. Sweat shined on his exposed, and heaving chest. His hair had loosed itself from its tie, wild from the wrestling, a bit of hay stuck in it. Arthur was above him, savoring the sight. He adjusted his knees on the barn floor, straddling John’s hips, and holding his wrists tightly in his hands. 

Panting, Arthur shook his head. His uncut hair hung down over his forehead, messy from working and from the wrestling. “What exactly were you trying to accomplish here, Marston?” 

Smirking, John grazed his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes dark and hungry. 

Arthur laughed, “Not still sore at me over the mint, then?” John rolled his eyes, “Just come here,” and leaned up towards his lover’s mouth. Arthur met him halfway. An enthusiastic groan caught up in his throat, and he let John’s tugging hands free. 

Immediately, John was sitting up, yanking Arthur’s shirt from his shoulders. He trailed his lips down the side of his lover’s neck, enthusiastically licking and sucking. The blond hummed in appreciation, freeing his hands from his sleeves. As soon as he did, he went to work on the rest of John’s shirt buttons. 

“You give a feller ideas,” John groaned, breathing in deeply at the nape of Arthur’s neck, “Driving me crazy all day. Getting all indecent,” 

Arthur realized that John was referring to his habit of removing clothing when he was working on a hot day. He chuckled, “Been watchin’ me, Marston?” 

“Course I have. Look atcha,” John growled, nipping at his lover’s shoulder, driving a pleased grunt out if him. He loved every inch of exposed skin, tanned from the sunlight and sheening with sweat. Arthur wasn’t as prone to sunburn as John was. That and the bastard had grown strangely comfortable with his modesty during their time on the homestead. 

That was enough to drive John mad by itself. 

“Want you naked. Want you,” John groaned into Arthur’s ear as his own throat faced an assault from teeth and tongue. He reached down to undo both pairs of jeans. “Want you to fuck me.”

Arthur laughed, pushing the brunet’s hand away, “John, I’m a mess, at least let me clean up a little first.”

“I want you like this. A mess. Right here, right now,” John groaned. He yanked Arthur’s jeans down to his knees and gave him a shove. The barn floor scratched against his bare arse where he landed sprawled on his back. And then John was on him, licking at his hardening cock.

Arthur knew how he smelled, and he worried for a moment about his lover licking at where so much heat and sweat gathered. But then a moan broke out of him, his hips lifting slightly as John took him into his mouth. He suckled at the head, groaning, creating those little vibrations that made his belly clench. 

Arthur’s fingers tangled into the long, dark hair. He stroked along John’s scalp, little appreciative noises escaping him. Lower and lower his mouth moved on him. Once in a while, if they were collected and slow, John could take all of Arthur’s length into his throat. He jerked at the thought of John’s nose pressed against the hair at his groin. 

John gagged, pulling off. He coughed, his lips shining, “Oh, Arthur, I’m gonna ride you.” His seriousness was soon made plain as he divested himself of his jeans and climbed up into Arthur’s lap.

The blond on the other hand, took a firm hold of John’s hips to still him. He was acutely aware of his own size. Their earliest, fumbled couplings had taught him that there was never going to be such a thing as complete spontaneity. The last thing he’d ever want was to hurt his lover. “John, wait, we don’t have any,”

“I’ve already taken care of that.” He ground out, taking a firm hold of Arthur’s erection, still wet with saliva. 

Arthur groaned, but still held firm to the brunet’s hips, “John, seriously,” 

“Will you please just trust me?”

“Not when you’re intent on hurtin’ yourself!”

John raised his eyebrows, and then smiled softly. He reached out and folded his hand around the back of Arthur’s neck. He pulled him in gently and kissed him, as deeply and reassuringly as he possibly could. Their tongues brushed over one another, grazing their teeth against one another's’ lips. It was sweet and calm in a moment that, while sweet, was certainly not calm. More so frantic. Desperate maybe. 

“The only thing I’m intent on, darlin’, is gettin’ you inside me,” John murmured, their mouths close enough to share breath, “You were gone ‘round fifteen minutes, like you promised. Plenty of time for me to get myself all slick and ready for ya.” 

Realizing what John had done, Arthur groaned. He pictured John fingering himself open, all curled up in their bed. His hair spread out over the pillows. His long legs tangling in the linen sheets. Pressing up against his own sweet spot, making himself gasp. Using excessive amounts of petroleum from the pot, like usual. 

“Okay?” John asked, reaching down to stroke at the very hard cock under him. He leaned in close, nuzzling gently at his lover’s throat. 

“Okay,” Arthur replied, softening his grip on John’s lean hips. He was rewarded with a deep, and very distracting kiss. He stroked gentle hands up the brunet’s flanks, pushing aside the open edges of his red shirt. A mutual gasp was caught between their lips as John eased himself down, guiding Arthur inside as he did. 

“Ohhh, fuck,” John rasped and cleared his throat. He adjusted his hips slightly, and bore down to let the head of Arthur’s cock in. He was slick inside, just like he’d said. Slick, warm and tight. 

“Ugh, you’re the one drivin’ me crazy, John Marston,” Arthur groaned as the brunet rocked a little to get himself used to the intrusion. “Fit to make a man lose his patience.” 

John smirked, his face red with pleasure and effort. “I’m fixin’ to make you lose your patience.” He licked his lips, and eased down a little further, relishing the resulting groan. Arthur Morgan was a force to behold. He’d known him since he was twelve years old. Plenty of time to see all darker sides of the man. The anger. The strength. The ferocity. The passion.

He wanted that right then. But he’d have to work for it.

John finally got himself fully seated in Arthur’s lap, the full length of him deep inside. _Full, so full,_ he thought hazily, a bead of sweat sliding down from his temple. Things always slowed down anytime Arthur first penetrated him. They had to. Neither minded much, relishing it in fact. 

The blond took him by the open edges of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. Their tongues tangled together. Soft groans were traded for long, lingering minutes as John carefully rolled his hips, moving slowly and deliberately. Arthur planted his feet and began to thrust gently up, meeting John each time he eased down. 

“I love you,” Arthur breathed against his lips.

John really enjoyed making love with Arthur. 

“Love you too,” John replied.

But he also really enjoyed a good hard fuck with Arthur.

He nipped at his lover’s lip, and growled, “Now fuck me. Hard.” 

Arthur growled back, and obliged him. Large hands taking a taut hold on John’s lean hips. The brunet cried out as he was pulled down onto his lover’s cock. With Arthur’s hold on him, he could move him however he wanted. As he rocked downward, he lifted John up. As he rocked upwards, he yanked John down. That sweet spot inside of him was assaulted in the best of ways with each thrust. 

“Harder,” John gasped, the edges of his vision going a little blurry.

But then he was empty as Arthur pulled out of him. 

“No, c’mon,” John frantically grabbed at his lover’s shoulders as he was bucked onto the barn floor. 

“Easy, boy.” 

Arthur rolled him onto his front, and looped an arm around his middle. John grunted as he was pulled to his hands and knees. “Ooof,” his breath was forced out of him as the blond slid his length back inside him. 

“You want it harder?” Arthur rumbled, gathering the back of John’s red shirt in one fist while the other hand took on a firm grip on a hip. It gave him the leverage he needed to meet his lover’s demands. 

“Oh! Y-yeah. Yes, yes,” John whimpered when Arthur gave a particularly forceful thrust.

“Yes, what? Where’re yer manners, boy?”

Tingling heat filled John’s belly, and a coolness settled in his throat. He ducked his head, hands scrabbling for purchase as Arthur rocked into him, harder and harder now that they had adjusted positions. “Yes, please. Please. Ah! Please,” John begged, shuddering. A large hand slid through his hair, tugging his head back. “Oh, god! Arthur!” 

“I’m here, sweet, m’here,” Arthur drawled, continuing the punishing pace he’d set. He adjusted his one-handed grip on his lover’s hair and released his hip. This allowed him a free hand to deliver a sharp slap to John’s backside. The brunet pulled in a shocked gasp, and cried out when Arthur smacked him again in the same spot.

“ _Arthur!_ ” John gasped, reaching down to stroke at his neglected cock. It dribbled over his hand, jumping at each thrust, at each stinging slap. “More!” He was already close, and was growing more so as the blond thoroughly spanked him. 

“Mmm, you always get red so quick,” Arthur rumbled, his thrusts still deep and forceful. He stroked a soothing hand over the curve of John’s arse, blushing red. “Bruise up real easy right about here too,” he said, pinching at the crease where his thigh met his bottom. 

John whimpered, stroking at himself frantically, “Arthur, I-I, ohh. Fuck! M’coming off,”

“Go on then, lemme hear you,” Arthur growled, releasing the long, black hair to get back to gripping his lover by the hips. He ground his teeth, and put more force into his thrusts, pulling John back onto his cock. 

John’s insides spasmed and clenched down when he let go, shouting out, spilling over his fist and the barn floor. Arthur didn’t let up, but instead grew more and more insistent, pounding into him without abandon. The brunet tried to keep himself upright on his hands and knees. A long moan left him, stuttering each time Arthur slammed into him. His arms shook with the effort. His mouth hung open, unable to stifle his overstimulated cries. 

But he relished every thrust, and every brush over his sweet spot. 

Despite his shakiness, John pressed back against Arthur as much as he possibly could. His determination was as steadfast as it was when he first wrestled him to the ground. He would have him, and be had in return. Even so, it was too much. Too much after coming off so recently. 

“C’mon, Arthur,” he goaded, trying desperately to keep still. A particularly hard thrust finally knocked him off kilter. He shuddered, resting his face against his forearms. “I want it.”

Arthur hummed appreciatively, bending at the waist to press his face to John’s spine. He wished he’d had the presence of mind to get his lover naked. He wanted to lick the planes of his strong back. Bite at his shoulder blades. Kiss the nape of his neck. 

A particularly pathetic series of whimpers left John, finally bringing Arthur over the edge. He grasped the brunet about the middle, holding his hips flush against his own. He uttered a deep, prolonged bellow in his release. John gasped, crying out, as wet heat spilled inside of him. “Arthur!”

“Ohh, god damnit, John,” Arthur groaned, his thrusts easing to a stop. He heaved a sigh, rubbing his face over the back of John’s red shirt. For a long time, they kept still, panting together on the barn floor. 

Eventually, Arthur eased his hips back, sliding himself out of his lover as he held his cheeks apart. John moaned, and then sucked in a sudden gasp, “Oh my — _Arthur!_ ” He felt the blond’s tongue, warm and wet licking at his well-used hole. He shuddered out a laugh, twisting to shove at Arthur, “Get off’a me!” 

Arthur chortled, deep in his chest and lay down on top of John when he rolled onto his back. He pressed his face against the brunet’s throat and breathed deep. John wrapped his still shaking arms about the blond, and held him tight. His arse stung a little, scraping against the barn floor after being slapped about so thoroughly. 

They laid together, both of them now filthy, lying on the barn floor as the horses nickered outside. Somewhere in the shady paddock, Amelia mooed in annoyance as her calf pestered her. The pig snorted, snuffling his nose through the dandelions John had thrown to him earlier. 

“You made a right mess of me, Marston.” Arthur grunted, his face still hidden against his lover’s neck. “More so than I was at least.” 

John chuckled, trailing his fingers up and down Arthur’s spine. “What say I go heat up some water for a bath? I’ll see ‘bout cleanin’ you up.” 

“Mind cookin’ for me first? I’m starvin’.” 

John answered dryly, “How about some minty beef?”

Arthur paused, got a hand on the ground and pushed himself up to look John in the eye. He squinted at him and shook his head, “You _are_ still sore at me over the mint!”

“It. Is. Growing. _Everywhere!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and/or kudos! Lovely to hear from you!
> 
> Also, please no spoilers in the comments for the enjoyment of everyone.


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